His name is Buster.
Buster Posey Nunn
Or, as Brodie calls him, “Mr. Posey.”
He weighs 2.4 pounds right now and will most likely max out at 7 or 8. He's a Chorkie. That's half Chihuahua and half Yorkie.
Yes. I know I’m pregnant.
Yes. I know that puppies, especially small ones, are a lot of work.
No. I’m not crazy or ‘out of my damn mind’.
The other day, while I was doing dishes and straightening up the house, do you want to know where Buster was?
He was in the office, asleep in an old Pack N’ Play, not bothering anyone. He didn’t have to have a bottle first or be rocked to sleep. I didn’t have to coax him into taking a nap by promising candy when he woke up. There were no tears or tantrums or begging or pleading. There was no guilt when I let him whine for nearly 10 minutes before he fell asleep.
Want to know why?
Because he’s a dog.
In June, I’m having another baby. A real baby. One who will cry and need a bottle and need rocking. One who will need constant attention and love and food and diapers and singing and playing and clothes and shoes and socks and…
Yet, no one asked me if I was out of my mind when I announced my pregnancy.
You know what I can’t do with a baby? Stick it in a Pack N’ Play for an hour and a half while I clean. Or nap. Or eat dinner. Or go to Kohl’s by myself.
You know what else I can’t do with a baby? Put it in the back yard all afternoon with a bowl of food and a bowl of water and know that it will be perfectly fine when I get home from work or errands. Buster will be excited to see me after a long day of playing in the grass and peeing on trees. He will be delighted to have attention from the boys and fall asleep in my lap while I sit in the recliner and watch Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal.
And no one will call CPS.
Yet, no one asked if I had time for a baby.
Yes. I know puppies have to be potty trained. You know who else has to be potty trained?
We’ve been potty training Brodie for about two weeks now. We have good days and we have bad days. We have days where he wears the same clothes all day long and days where we run out of clean underwear. The other day, he asked if he could go potty on the side of the house. I said yes, of course, because one of the major perks of raising boys is that they can pee just about anywhere. After about a minute and a half, I realize that Brodie is taking a little too long going pee. Do you want to know why? Because he was actually going poop.
That’s right. My two and a half year old took a poop on the side of the house, while standing up, and was super proud of himself.
It. Was. Awesome.
I had to spend about 5 minutes explaining to him that while he can pee in the grass, pooping is actually unacceptable.
Potty training is potty training, people.
I tell Brodie about 8 times a day to stop playing with his penis. You know who I don’t have to say that to?
In a few months, I can insure that Buster doesn’t knock up the slutty neighbor girl down the street. Trying to teach my sons that same lesson is going to be a lot more work and require more than 75 bucks and a quick trip to the vet.
Yet, if baby number three is, in fact, a boy, I haven’t heard one concern about my ability to accomplish teaching said lesson.
It’s a dog, guys.
I got this.
My kids wanted a dog. Jeremy and I wanted a dog. When you are getting ready to be a family of five, I figure there are two things you need: A table big enough to fit everyone and a dog.
Besides, look at this face. We couldn’t say no!
Happy Monday, Friends.
go. do. be.